


Brand New Jones (Martin Crieff/Molly Hooper)

by Cutebutpsycho



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutebutpsycho/pseuds/Cutebutpsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin gets some alone time while waiting for Molly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brand New Jones (Martin Crieff/Molly Hooper)

**T** he course of love never did run smooth, to quote the Bard, and that was never more true for Molly Hooper and Martin Crieff.

Or at least, that’s how Martin felt after returning from a trip that saw GERTI going from Fitton to Florence, then Dubai. From there, Carolyn found a job that took them from Dubai to Moscow and then eventually back to Fitton. This didn’t include running out of fuel and having an impromptu layover in Volgograd as Carolyn and Douglas dealt with some rather shady characters to obtain enough fuel to sputter onward to Moscow, then back home. Nor does this include Arthur’s amazing attempts at cooking, among which was something called [Catsup Pineapple Upside Down Cake](http://en.petitchef.com/recipes/scariest-vintage-recipes-%233-ketchup-pineapple-upside-down-cake-fid-1113139). The less said about that, the better.

Thankfully on the ground, Martin extricated himself from the airfield as fast as possible, tapping furiously on his phone while sitting in his van.

 _Finally home_ , he texted.  _Where are you?_

A few minutes later, his phone chimed.  _Sorry Luv. Was busy babysitting him. I’m trapped at work._

Martin sighed. Of course,  _he_  would be in her hair. Molly groused about him recently, stating that Sherlock was on a case and demanding access to all the labs, bodies and other random items. Why he needed a coffee maker, vinegar, a rubber chicken and a bottle of cold medicine was beyond either of them, but by now, Molly was used to his demands.

_Will you be free later? I need to get away from Fitton as fast as possible._

_In a few hours,_  was her reply.  _He keeps muttering about how he’s close to the answer. I’ll probably leave him in the hands of Estelle._

Martin laughed.  _You don’t like her do you?_

 _Estelle’s a dear_ , he could almost hear the giggle.  _But she does owe me a favour. I’ll do what I can. Can you meet me at my place?_

 _Yes I can,_  he grinned.  _I think I have the next two days off, so I can at least spend them with you._

 _Excellent,_ followed by a wink. This was shaping up to be a promising start, judging by the emoticon.  _I think I can arrange a mental health day. I deserve it after the coffee maker incident._

_I’m terrified to ask._

_I’ll tell you later. Just go to my flat, wash up and we’ll go from there._

_Yes Ma’am and I love you Ma’am._

He could picture her grinning at the phone, while Sherlock puttered around in the background, ignoring her. Perhaps something would be on fire or there would be some blood being subjected to cold medicine and coffee grounds. One was never certain with Sherlock, judging by Molly’s stories.

_Love you too. Now get here as soon as you can._

A quick stop at his place to get some new clothes and Martin was soon on the road, heading to London. Traffic was thankfully light so he arrived at her flat in little more than two hours. Approximately six months into their relationship Molly gave him keys to her flat, telling him he could come over whenever and make himself at home.

While it was tempting to completely move in, Martin knew better than that. Instead, he kept a few toiletries and a couple sets of clean clothes there as well as a few books. He didn’t want to infringe on her hospitality, despite her assurances that it was perfectly fine.

Letting himself into her flat, Martin cautiously glanced around for Toby. Even though the two of them had finally come to a truce after Martin roasted a chicken (wrapped in bacon, according to the Two Fat Ladies recipe) for the hellbeast, he still was cautious around Toby. Thankfully Toby was dozing on the couch, when Martin entered the flat. The tom flicked one golden eye open, casting a baleful glare at him.

“Hullo Toby,” Martin stammered. “Molly said it was all right for me to come over.”

The cat huffed an indignant sigh that seemed to say  _Fine. You may stay plebeian,_ before closing his eye and rolling over to continue his nap.

Martin made his way over to the bedroom, where he dropped his overnight bag and began shucking off his clothing. When was the last time he had a proper shower? Even he couldn’t remember. The last thing he remembered was a too-cold shower with anemic pressure in Moscow before hopping on GERTI again to make his way back to Fitton.

Heading into the bathroom, Martin turned the shower on as hot as he could tolerate it and stood under the water. Knotted muscles slowly unraveled thanks to plenty of hot water and good pressure. Slowly his mind turned away from stress of the flight (Why did Douglas insist on rhyming games? Who were Carolyn and Douglas dealing with in Volgograd? And how the hell did Arthur manage to bake a cake on GERTI?) to more pleasurable things, namely, a certain brown-haired, brown-eyed woman named Molly.

How long had it been since they had sex? Martin’s brow furrowed in concentration, before images of a hasty fumble in the shower bobbed to his consciousness. He grinned, recalling what originally was supposed to be a time-saver after oversleeping, turned into something a bit more pleasurable. True, they both were late for work, but it was worth it in their minds.

Apparently his prick also recalled that incident fondly, because it was slowly coming to attention as images of Molly’s soapy hands caressing him flashed through his brain like an erotic zoetrope. Martin heaved a sigh and willed the image of Molly, covered in soap, hair slicked back under the water, writhing under his ministrations out of his brain. He could almost feel her fingers digging into his shoulders and hear her low, dirty whispers of encouragement.

 _You can wait a bit longer,_ he chided himself.  _Besides, aren’t you tired and in need of a nap?_

He swore he could hear his prick answer,  _No. No we can’t wait. Besides a hasty fumble filled with elbows and teeth banging against each other when she gets home is not going to be much fun. She deserves more doesn’t she?_ Not surprisingly, it sounded like Douglas Richardson talking.

Martin changed the water temperature from warm to icy cold, emitting a yelp at the shock. It seemed effective, since his cock flagged a bit. It wasn’t that he was against a good wank every now and then (they were helpful for lulling him to sleep or when a particular image of a certain alluring morgue attendant refused to vacate his brain), but he didn’t want that right now, especially when he knew she was coming home soon.

He fumbled for a towel, dried himself off and attempted to will other thoughts into his head. Thoughts that didn’t include his girlfriend. Naked. Doing acts that previously would have made them both bloom into bright red blushes and giggle at the very thought.

It wasn’t until he reached the bedroom that Martin realized the futility of his resistance. The bed, while open and inviting, reminded him of lazy mornings spent rolling around, getting reacquainted with the familiar nooks and crannies of each other’s bodies and discovering new things about each other.

 _Who knew Molly liked to sleep starkers?_  Martin mused. It made sense though. She tended to heat up during sleep, often to the point where she was covered in a sheen of sweat and her hair damp in the morning. Martin would joke that she was more effective than his electric blanket during the cold nights. It also made certain activities easier to engage in, he thought, with a debauched grin.

He knew he didn’t want to do the next move, and later he’d blame what happened on exhaustion, but at that moment, his knees gave out and he collapsed on the bed, face first, with a happy sigh. He inhaled her scent, warm and sweet, reveling in the fact that he was home.

There was no point in fighting it, he realized as he rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Even if he went and sat in the kitchen, he’d be reminded of her body pressed up against his, her hands sliding down the front of his trousers, as he washed the dishes one evening. The living room also wasn’t a safe place either, since they both tended to get distracted during cricket matches.

One memory of her laid out on the floor, t-shirt pulled up enough to reveal her breasts, left leg on his shoulder and the right wrapped around his waist flitted through his brain and that’s when he realized he should just surrender to the situation. The odds were good that the more he denied himself, the more likely it would be that he would come in his pants. Which was more embarrassing than anything he could possibly think of.

His hand stole down and took an experimental, yet gentle, tug as the thought of Molly riding him one morning floated into his mind. Immediately (almost embarrassingly fast if he wasn’t alone), his prick stood to attention.

It was good, the warmth that began pooling in his belly, as he began moving his hand gently, attempting to mimic Molly’s movements. Martin closed his eyes, remembering the curve of her neck as she threw her head back, letting out little ragged pants and gasps. His hands were on her breasts, kneading her nipples while she worked one hand between the two of them to gently rub her clitoris.

A bit of precome leaked out and his thumb swiped it over his crown, as he emitted a low groan. It wasn’t Molly’s mouth or the way her tongue would swipe over his glans, hot and wet, but it was still good and the bit of moisture was welcome. His hips were rocking gently in time with his hand as he got into the desired rhythm. Tug, pull, swipe thumb over crown to get a bit of lubrication, then repeat. Bit businesslike, but another memory of her humming merrily one morning as she woke him with an astounding act of fellatio made the whole enterprise less clinical. Truth be told, it was really nice.

 _I really did need this_ , he thought to himself.

 _Told you_ , his prick smugly answered.

The pressure from his hand increased, recalling how she clenched around him, moving her pelvis faster as she slid up and down his shaft, her orgasm imminent. His other hand moved down to cup his balls as he began to come undone. The memory of Molly falling forward, kissing and moaning his name, fingers digging into his back and her breasts rubbing against his chest flooded his brain as he came.

 _Martin_.

With that, he was lost, hips bucking as come flowed over his fingers and down his prick. A guttural groan of her name escaped him. He could almost hear the giggle she would always emit after a good bout of sex. He felt utterly spent, boneless and somewhat sated.

“Martin.”

It was at that moment, that Martin realized that Molly’s voice wasn’t in his mind. It coming from outside of him. Specifically, above him. His eyes flashed open and he caught sight of her face, upside down, staring back at him.

Martin let out a shriek of surprise and rolled off the bed, arms and legs flailing as he crashed onto the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Toby standing in the doorway. He could’ve sworn that cat was smirking at him.

“Martin,” Molly exclaimed, dropping to her knees and examining him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he groaned as he felt a blush creep up his neck. “How long were you standing there?”

A slight smile tugged at her lips as she did a quick examination of him. “Long enough,” she said, settling down next to him and putting his head on her lap. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Yes,” he groaned. “Nothing’s injured but my pride.”

Molly leaned down and kissed him gently on the forehead. “Nothing to be ashamed of Luv,” she said, twisting his hair between her fingers. “We’ve all indulged at one point or another.”

“I know,” he muttered half-heartedly. “It just seems wrong that I couldn’t wait until you got home.” He adjusted his head in her lap, pressing down slightly as he attempted to get comfortable.

Molly let out a little squeak and it was at that moment that he pulled his focus out of his neurosis and back to her. He observed that her eyes had that bright shine and twinkle and there was a pink flush to her cheeks. Martin noticed her hands were shaking slightly as she wound her fingers through his hair. One experimental sniff told him everything. She was aroused. Very, very aroused.

“You were watching me,” he began grinning, realizing that he found another new thing about her. “You’re turned on!” he crowed, reveling in the fact that he could affect her in such a way. Well, he knew that to begin with, but more confirmation of the fact was always a good thing.

Another gasp escaped her as he ground his head into her lap. “Yes, yes, I did,” she replied, tugging at his scalp to steady herself. “And yes, yes I am. How the hell would you feel to catch me in the act like that? Spread out naked in bed, eyes closed, hands rubbing all over my skin and calling out your name?”

Martin bit his lip as he studied her. “Well,” he said slowly. “There’s only one way to tell.”

Molly arched an eyebrow and stared down at him. Something unsaid bounced between them as she caught the gist of where he was going. “Really?”

She really was amazing, Martin would always think to himself. No one else could get the same results out of him that she could. If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t have uttered the next phrase. But she wasn’t anyone else. She was Molly.

Pitching his voice low and allowing a lascivious grin to tug at the corners of his mouth, Martin said, “You’ll just have to do it while I watch.”

He was rewarded with a giggle, before she kissed him deeply. She nibbled on his lower lip for a moment, before pulling away with a naughty smile and  then emitting two of the best words he had heard during the past few days:

 “You’re on.”


End file.
